He nods, a charming boyish grin on his face. “Mhmm. Don’t worry, I’ll let you warm up with the machine first. I throw much harder.”

Once we’ve paid, I stand behind the cage while he warms up with the machine. He takes cut after cut, hitting the ball into the net on the opposite end. I could watch him like this all day. Totally in his element and showing off for me.

“Hey, batter, batter,” I say through the chain-link fence.

“Are you ready to give it a try?” he asks, briefly looking over his shoulder before hitting the next ball. The machine stops and he backs out of the cage. He takes the helmet in my hand and forces it onto my head, then kisses me. “Yep, a bikini would have really made this fantasy complete.”

“Your mind really is a scary place, isn’t it?”

He winks and motions with his head to the cage. “Get in there.”

I grab a bat inside and hit the button to start the machine. I haven’t swung a bat since… high school gym class maybe? I’m giving myself a pep talk when the first pitch comes flying by me. I swing, but it’s almost too late and I only get a small piece of the ball sending it off to the right.

Tanner doesn’t comment or offer any advice. I don’t look back, but out of my peripheral, I can see his arms overhead, fingers hooked into the fence as he watches on. I narrow my focus and concentrate hard. I’m able to make contact with each pitch, but they look nothing like his perfect hits straight down the line.

Is it ridiculous to be frustrated that I can’t hit a baseball as well as a division one college baseball player? Yes. Am I anyway? Also yes.

I don’t realize how tightly I’m gripping the bat or how sweaty I am until strong arms wrap around me from behind. “Easy, killer. This is supposed to be fun.”

I loosen my hold as I watch one go by. “Yeah, yeah, I just want to hit one really good.”

“You’re swinging too late.” He steps back. “Get ready. I’ll tell you when.”

Letting out a deep breath, another ball flies by while I prepare.

“This one’s yours, babe. You got this.”

I nod. His words light up something inside of me that my own pep talk didn’t. The ball appears along with the sound the machine makes as it releases each pitch.

“Now,” Tanner says.

It feels too early. I want to hold back, but my body is more cooperative than my brain. I swing, connecting with the ball and sending it sailing straight down the middle. A zap of pride and joy shoots through me just like when I make a perfect serve in volleyball. There’s no other feeling like it.